By JoAnn Vogt
On June 28, thirteen Coloradans – a mixed bag of newbies and experienced Guatemala hands, teenagers and old folks, Methodists and Presbyterians, Spanish speakers and not-so-much – flew off to Houston to join two Wisconsinites for the journey to the highlands of western Guatemala. During our week at the English language camp in Lemoa, we came to bond with one another and to appreciate a beautiful part of the world.
On June 28, thirteen Coloradans – a mixed bag of newbies and experienced Guatemala hands, teenagers and old folks, Methodists and Presbyterians, Spanish speakers and not-so-much – flew off to Houston to join two Wisconsinites for the journey to the highlands of western Guatemala. During our week at the English language camp in Lemoa, we came to bond with one another and to appreciate a beautiful part of the world.
But most of all, we came to love our schoolchildren. They ranged from fourth graders to ninth graders and had varying levels of competency in English. They were eager and enthusiastic, and we all hoped they were learning as much from us as we learned from them. They patiently tried to teach us K'iche' words and didn’t giggle more than necessary at our pronunciation. Our three teenage team members each had an adoring following, and even we old abuelas and abuelos got hugs – something I never received from my undergraduate German students back in the day.
We got in some exploring at the beginning and the end of the camp. Throughout, we were lucky to have the talented and affable Nacho (a/k/a King of the Road) as our driver, and to have Raúl as our translator (and as our future criminal defense lawyer, should we find ourselves in trouble in Guatemala).
We got in some exploring at the beginning and the end of the camp. Throughout, we were lucky to have the talented and affable Nacho (a/k/a King of the Road) as our driver, and to have Raúl as our translator (and as our future criminal defense lawyer, should we find ourselves in trouble in Guatemala).
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Things I learned: (1) TSA at DIA has a problem with tuna cans in carry-on bags; (2) “don’t flush paper down the toilet” means just that; (3) loud booms at 4:30 a.m. do not necessarily mean war if you’re in Chichicastenango and it’s St. Thomas’s day; (4) the next physician accompanying a group should probably leave the surgical scissors at home (the security personnel at the Guatemala City airport were underwhelmed with Terry’s attempt to demonstrate their lack of sharpness by poking himself in the arm).
Thank you, Pura Vida, for giving us this life-changing experience, and thank you for what you do for the children of Guatemala. I see their country’s future in their faces.
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